


Time Out Of Mind

by Alexander_Writes



Series: Dead Men Fics [7]
Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Make It Worse, Anachronisms, Can You Tell I've Given Up On Serious Tags?, Fix It For The Boys (Maybe), Gen, Hopeless Is Nonbinary (as always), Humor, Larrikin Is In Gremlin Mode, Old Fic I'm Brushing Up And Presenting On A Platter, Open Ended - Might Be Continued, Queer Themes, Rated teen for swearing, This Is What We Could Have Had, Time Travel, Valkyrie Hates Erskine And Nobody Knows Why, Valkyrie POV, WE COULD HAVE HAD IT ALL
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25707952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexander_Writes/pseuds/Alexander_Writes
Summary: “If you’re a time traveller,” Hopeless asked, “when did you come from?”Hopeless had moved nearer to Larrikin, who had not really sobered, and was still looking excessively happy with himself for no particular reason.“I … two thousand and seventeen,” Valkyrie said, and then she looked at Skulduggery, “help me up.”The skeleton took a moment to move, and then he extended a hand and supported her arms so she could stand. There was an overwhelming lack of familiarity in his behaviour.“Alright,” Dexter said, “So that’s how you know Skulduggery.”Valkyrie frowned, “I didn’t expect you to take that so well.”“Well,” Larrikin said from the floor, where Dexter had dropped him sometime during his laughing fit. “You’re not the first.”Or, Valkyrie travels back in time and meets the Dead Men. She finds them very different to what she expected.
Relationships: The Dead Men - Friendships
Series: Dead Men Fics [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672435
Comments: 12
Kudos: 49





	Time Out Of Mind

**Author's Note:**

> I found this bad boy from way back in 2018. I know this has been done before in this fandom, but this was too fun not to post. 
> 
> The title is from Edna St Vincent Millay's poem 'Dirge Without Music', more because I couldn't think of any other title. But the poem's great, definitely recommend.

It felt like being caught in a vice, vicious and nauseating, similar to shunting, and Valkyrie blacked out for a moment. Her eyes opened slowly, focusing with difficulty. She was curled up on a rough, wooden floor. Something cold circled her wrists. Valkyrie shuddered, feeling suddenly aged, and she scanned her surroundings. It was dark, but the shadows of beds gave the impression that this was a hostel of some sort. She was shackled. This wasn’t Roarhaven. Where on earth was she?

“She’s awake.”

There were people around Valkyrie, shadows within shadows. Her eyes immediately focused on the most familiar one in the room.

“Skulduggery?” Valkyrie asked, and her voice wavered. “Where am I?”

There was a long pause.

“You know this woman?”  
  
Valkyrie’s eyes widened. “Dexter? Saracen? What are you doing here?”

The two were standing by Skulduggery, whose arms were crossed. Saracen looked fitter, though still world weary. Dexter looked, as always, impeccable, though he wore leather armour instead of his normal, civilian clothing. In fact, they were all wearing clothing similar to what they’d worn on that last Dead Men mission, five years ago.

“Who are you?” Skulduggery asked, then, when she couldn’t speak for staring, “Who is she, Saracen?”

“How would I know?” Saracen asked, toey. “I’m not a mind reader.”

“Hopeless?” Skulduggery said.

A figure stepped into the edge of Valkyrie’s line of sight, and she felt a sudden chill. Was it Hopeless? But Hopeless was …

“I’m not a mind reader either.”

Grey eyes met hers for a second, under a ragged dark fringe. Hopeless’s head tilted to the side. When Valkyrie had heard Skulduggery talk about his deceased comrade, she’d conjured an image of someone like Shudder, perhaps, stoic and stocky and reliably calm, perhaps a shapeshifter of some description, though nobody had told her and she hadn’t asked. This young person before her was slim and delicate, with a low voice and slender hands.

What was happening?

Valkyrie pushed herself to her feet. They didn’t stop her, just watched as she waddled away from them. Valkyrie pressed her back to a filthy wall. Behind the four men was the door. To her right and left were two windows. She scanned the room for something sharp, something heavy, but there was nothing. The men were armed but the room itself was bare, the only furniture being the beds.

“What’s going on, Skulduggery?”

He tilted his head to the side. “Your acting is passable. You genuinely seem confused. What’s your name?”

“Skulduggery, you know my name,” Valkyrie snapped. “… wait, is Abyssinia tricking me? Is that what’s happening?”

Dexter looked at her, suddenly tense.

“Abyssinia is dead,” he said, “And if she’s not, we’ll remedy that.”

Valkyrie looked down at her hands. A sigil glowed back at her from the shackles, keeping her powers at bay.

“You cuffed me,” she said numbly.

“We usually shackle spies,” Skulduggery informed her, “And worse besides.”  
  
“Skulduggery, what is _wrong_ with you?”

“Many things,” he said, “though none of them your concern.”

“But seriously, you can’t …”

“Your name please, before we resort to something drastic.”

Valkyrie swallowed, “… Valkyrie Cain.”

Skulduggery tilted his head in the direction of his companions.

“She’s telling the truth,” said Hopeless.

“Why would I lie?” Valkyrie asked. The room was blurring again. Had she hit her head?

There were three quick knocks on the door, and they all turned. Hopeless stepped forward and unlocked the door, and opened it slowly. A slender man peered in. He had auburn hair and bright green eyes. Valkyrie suspected she already knew his name. She fidgeted when his eyes settled on her.

“We checked,” he said, “There doesn’t seem to be anyone else of suspicion here.”

“Are you certain?” Skulduggery asked.

The boy scoffed, “Don’t you trust me?” He stepped in, and winced. “Why is it so dark? Romantic ambiance? Are Dexter and Saracen finally admitting their feelings for each other?”

“Romantic ambiance?” Hopeless asked, a note of humour in an otherwise quiet voice.

"You know there's no one for me but you," Dexter said to Larrikin, similarly amused.

Someone behind him, still in the doorway, clicked their fingers and lit the room with a warm light. They stepped inside.

Valkyrie shook her head, “You’re dead.”

He looked colder and stronger than she’d ever seen him, and younger too.

“Meet our delusional guest, Ghastly,” Dexter said, “Valkyrie Cain. Apparently.”

She blinked rapidly, eyes suddenly watery. She wanted to hug him. She wanted to scream.

“The others are still downstairs,” the boy said, “they’ll be up in a minute. What did you do to her?”

“Nothing, Larrikin,” Hopeless said, “We were just chatting.”

“You know what we should do,” Ghastly said.

“That’s not necessary,” Skulduggery said.

“Okay,” Valkyrie said, and she started swaying, just slightly, “either I’m having a super vivid nightmare or I’ve … shunted, or time travelled. How did I get here?”

“You teleported,” Ghastly told her. “Right into our meeting.”

“Time travelled?” Larrikin said, and his voice turned serious, suddenly.

Valkyrie bit her tongue, hard. “What is the year?”

“Tell Mevolent that his spies are becoming more and more incompetent,” Dexter said. “If you ever get to see him again.”

“What is the year?” Her voice rose.

“The year of our lord, eighteen-fifty,” Hopeless said.

“Skulduggery,” Valkyrie said, “this isn’t funny. If this is a joke, I swear I’ll rip your jawbone off and …”

“No need for threats so early in the interrogation procedure,” Larrikin said. He was leaning on Dexter's shoulder, catlike and relaxed.

Saracen looked at him, “This isn’t an interrogation.”

Larrikin frowned. “Are you sure? It looks like an interrogation. She’s asking questions and we’re answering.”

“Interrogation usually involves a little bit more torture,” Dexter says, “not always, but usually. This is just a chat.”

Valkyrie’s throat suddenly dried. Hopeless looked at her, features somehow different, now, if unreadable.

“Stop talking,” Hopeless said. “She isn’t lying.”

They all quietened, in the fashion of a group used to listening in situations such as these. Hopeless stepped forward, casting weird shadows in the flickering fire light, and stood in front of Valkyrie, holding out a hand.

“May I?”

Valkyrie frowned, and then Hopeless placed a hand on her wrist, touch gentle. It only took a couple of seconds until Hopeless staggered, and then Ghastly was behind the mage and helping Hopeless step away.

“By the Faceless,” Hopeless said, eyes wide. “Fucking _hell._ ”

Valkyrie frowned. “Are you a sensitive?”

“Ha,” Saracen said, under his breath. Dexter elbowed him.

“Right,” Valkyrie said, “I’m leaving now.”

“No you are not,” Hopeless said sharply. “Not until you tell us everything you know.”

Suddenly, the door flung open. The Dead Men all turned, then relaxed. Anton Shudder stepped in, glancing at Valkyrie then walking to Ghastly and Hopeless. Behind him was a final man, who walked in with a familiar swagger, and Valkyrie should have expected this, she really should have …

“You bastard,” she said, “you complete and utter bastard.”

Erskine Ravel tilted his head to the side and smiled, golden, treacherous eyes glittering. He straightened his coat collar, and crossed his arms. Valkyrie wanted to rip that smile off his face.

“Hello,” he said, “Do I know you?”

It didn’t take them long to realise that Valkyrie could not function with him in the room. In fact, Ghastly had to hold her down so she didn’t attack him, despite the handcuffs. Larrikin found it so funny that he couldn’t stand, and Dexter ended up supporting him with a _fond_ expression on his face. Valkyrie only stopped when she elbowed Ghastly in the face. He didn’t seem affected at all, but it felt unbearably rude. He was dead, she shouldn’t elbow him in the face.

Erskine stared from the doorway, frowning, until Hopeless sighed and shoved him out the door. Skulduggery crouched down to look at Valkyrie, and Ghastly awkwardly released her. She glared at them.

“What was that about?” Dexter asked finally.

Valkyrie really considered telling them, but she was starting to have the inkling of a plan. If this was real, she needed to be careful not to create some sort of paradox, even if she wanted very much to punch Ravel in the face. She shook her head.

“Hopeless, Saracen, do you know?” Dexter asked.

Saracen huffed, but Hopeless grimaced. “I’ll tell you later.”

“If you’re a time traveller,” Hopeless asked, “when did you come from?”

Hopeless had moved nearer to Larrikin, who had not really sobered, and was still looking excessively happy with himself for no particular reason.

“I … two thousand and seventeen,” Valkyrie said, and then she looked at Skulduggery, “help me up.”

The skeleton took a moment to move, and then he extended a hand and supported her arms so she could stand. There was an overwhelming lack of familiarity in his behaviour.

“Alright,” Dexter said, “So that’s how you know Skulduggery.”

Valkyrie frowned, “I didn’t expect you to take that so well.”

“Well,” Larrikin said from the floor, where Dexter had dropped him sometime during his laughing fit. “You’re not the first.”

Valkyrie blinked. “I’m not?”

Anton snorted, and everyone stared at him. Larrikin especially seemed happy with the reaction.

“Of course you are,” Ghastly informed her, “don’t be ridiculous.”

“Right.”

Valkyrie wondered how she was holding on to her sanity. Half the people here should be dead, properly dead, not Skulduggery-Dead. She was in a room full of ghosts. Was this some sort of sensitive trick? Was Abyssinia playing mind games?

“So, your discipline is time travel then?” Ghastly asked.

“No,” she said, “I shoot lightening from my fingers.”

“Well,” Skulduggery said, “that sounds vaguely useful. So someone sent you here. Who?”  
  
“I don’t know … I can’t remember.”

“That sounds convenient,” Saracen said lightly.

Larrikin shrugged, “you know what we need to do.”

“Cassandra said she won’t help you with anything war related,” Shudder said.

“Send Ghastly,” Skulduggery said, “she likes Ghastly. Anyway, this isn’t technically war related. We don’t know what it’s related to.”

“She only likes me because she was friends with my mother,” Ghastly said reluctantly, and Valkyrie thought _oh_ , and then stored that thought away.

“Cassandra Pharos?” She asked.

“You know her?” Dexter asked.

Valkyrie nodded slowly. “If I agree to let her look into my head, will you release me?”

They all shared a glance.

“No, but we will allow you to walk,” Saracen said cheerfully. “As long as you don’t try to murder Erskine again.”

Valkyrie swallowed. Something ill turned in her stomach. Someone said it was 1850 – Hopeless – so had Skulduggery become Vile yet? Had Erskine been captured? When was Hopeless going to die, and Larrikin?

And if this all was real, how could she possibly get herself back to her own time?

Valkyrie let Saracen steer her out of the room while the rest of the Dead Men collected possessions from under the beds. He was careful not to push her off balance as they descended a large oak staircase. They were in a tavern, or an alehouse. Mortals wearing brown or dirtied white shirts laughed and drank together. Someone played the fiddle. Valkyrie winced at the smell of tobacco and dirt and rot that clung to the establishment, but Saracen didn’t pause, simply leading Valkyrie out the entrance and onto a flat dirt road. There was a forested hill to the right, a small town to her left. A woman walked past and called something to Saracen, and he answered with a smile in the same tongue. Valkyrie had never been good at languages, but she thought it sounded like German.

“Where are we?”

Saracen’s face sobered. “Who are you?”

“I asked the question first.”

“We’re in a small town in Prussia,” Saracen said.

The place name triggered something far back in Valkyrie’s memory, but Saracen was looking at her expectantly.

“I’m … I worked as a Detective, alongside Skulduggery,” Valkyrie said quietly. “We were – are – close friends.”

“Right.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“Why would I?” Saracen said. “All I know is that you’re scared of something that was bad enough to surprise Hopeless.”

“What do you mean?”

Saracen frowned. “See, if you were Skulduggery’s partner you’d know exactly what I was talking about.”

“Saracen, maybe you don’t know everything, have you considered that?”

Saracen snorted. “I’m not using my powers. It’s just common sense. If you work with Skulduggery you’d know Hopeless’ discipline.”

“Skulduggery never really talked about him.”

Saracen frowned. “Them.”

“What?”

“Hopeless isn’t a man, so we don’t use male pronouns for them. They use third person plural pronouns.”

“Oh,” Valkyrie frowned. That didn’t match up, but then again, Skulduggery never talked about his past in any significant way. “So they’re nonbinary?”

“What’s that?” Hopeless asked from behind them, frowning.

Valkyrie spun around. The rest of the Dead Men were all ready, and most of them watching the conversation silently. Erskine and Ghastly stood shoulder to shoulder; it made Valkyrie feel ill.

“It’s, um,” Valkyrie stumbled. “It’s what some people call themselves if they aren’t a man or a woman.”

Hopeless’ entire face froze.

“Is this a new thing? From 2017?” Dexter asked, sceptical but clearly interested too.

“Kind of, not really? I don’t know the history of it. It’s not new – but the word is,” Valkyrie tried to explain. She had very little contact with mortal or magical queer communities. Never was one of the few gender diverse people she knew well, and he hated her. It felt wrong, to explain this to someone, when she herself was not an expert. But there was nobody else here to say it, and she’d already dug the hole. “I’m sorry, I don’t know much about it.”

“Let’s go, the sun will set soon and we need to get through the forest before nightfall,” Hopeless said, striding past.

“Hopeless,” Erskine said quietly, walking to catch up.

Valkyrie stared. “Did I do something to upset them?”

“I don’t know,” Saracen said, and they started walking too.

“When did the war end?” Saracen asked, when they had all walked for a long time and Valkyrie had bitten back so many complaints about sore feet and shackles.

“What do you mean?” Valkyrie said quietly.

“It’s 2017 in your time,” Saracen said, and for a moment his eyes were desperate. “Surely this is all over by then?”

“Yeah,” Valkyrie nodded. The idea of lying did not occur to her, in the face of Saracen’s emotional question. “The Truce was signed on the 27th of July, 1922.”

Saracen looked at her for a long time. He hadn’t wanted to know, Valkyrie realised, or perhaps he just could not bear the idea of another seventy years of fighting. Valkyrie should have lied.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

“Dexter, do you want to look after our guest?” He called.

“Alrighty then,” Dexter said, and he and Larrikin walked over as Saracen hurried away. Valkyrie said nothing to them.

It was difficult to walk a forested track with hands bound. Valkyrie kept almost tripping, and most of the time Dexter caught her, but sometimes he didn’t. Larrikin cackled every time she tripped, skipping out of the way. She really didn’t like Larrikin, Valkyrie decided, though she had imagined that she would when Skulduggery had told stories about him.

“Can’t you let me out of these?” She asked finally. “There are eight of you and one of me. I have to be slowing you down.”

“Not a good idea,” Anton said quietly.

“Where are we even going?” Valkyrie asked.

“We told you,” Larrikin said. “We’re seeing Cassandra.”

“In a forest?”

“Yup,” Larrikin said.

“She doesn’t live in Ireland?”

“Not currently. Obviously.” Skulduggery said, slowing his pace.

Valkyrie looked at him. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t even been a hundred metres away.”

“And yet, you haven’t looked at me once.”

“Why would I?” Skulduggery said. “Either you’re a particularly incompetent spy, or you know me from the future. Either way, why would I have any wish to speak to you?”

“You don’t want to know about your future?”

“Not particularly. My present is difficult enough to handle.”

“Skulduggery, we’re – or will be – best friends.”

“How old are you? Twenty-four?” Skulduggery asked. Valkyrie nodded. “Why would I be best friends with a twenty-four-year old?”

His skull scanned the people around him, and Valkyrie heard the unspoken part. _These are my best friends, why would I need anyone else_? She’d feel insulted, but instead she felt desperately sad. These men seemed to work in tandem, to know each other absolutely. How had they broken apart like they had? That’s right, _Erskine_.

The treacherous mage was walking ahead, arm over Hopeless’ shoulders. Valkyrie darted her eyes back to Skulduggery.

“I’m not your oldest friend, back in my time,” she admitted. “But we’re close, you and I.”

“I suppose I’ll find out if you’re lying in a century and a half,” Skulduggery said with a shrug.

Larrikin snorted. Dexter inhaled, casually catching Valkyrie’s elbow as she tripped over a tree root.

“Here we are.”

They were at the edge of a clearing. Everything about this place felt quaint, like a faerytale. There was a cottage puffing gentle grey smoke from its chimney, a dirt path created seemingly by the tread of numerous feet.

“Yoo hoo!” Larrikin yelled suddenly. Valkyrie jumped and _glared_. “Cassie! Cassandra!”

“Larrikin!” Responded a voice, just as loudly.

A figure emerged from behind the house, walking toward them. Cassandra’s hair was blond, no grey to be seen. She wore brown overalls, a old red felt hat. Her eyes were the same as ever. She eyed Valkyrie carefully.

“Good,” she said. “Hello Val. I’ve been expecting you.”

“Thank Christ _someone_ has,” Valkyrie responded, over her surprise.

“Come on in,” Cassandra said to all of them, and the Dead Men followed her into her little, German house. Her house had the same feel as her Irish one, and Valkyrie felt some of the tension leave her shoulders. Hopefully, Cassandra would know what the hell was going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having Saracen call they/them pronouns 'third person plural' but sounded less anachronistic in my head? Now, of course, they/them is considered singular when talking about one person irl.


End file.
